


Lucky

by Bookshido



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Girl In Every Port Project, Mistaken Identity, Monster of the Week, Revised and Rereleased, School Reunion, Shifters, Ten Year Reunion, monster reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 12:03:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13189695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookshido/pseuds/Bookshido
Summary: Your ten year high school reunion doesn't go according to plan when hunters show up. Wouldn't be a problem if you weren't the very thing they were trying to tract down.





	Lucky

Carefully, you entered the small bathroom and shut the door, breathing heavily and slumping against it. Once your panicked breathing had settled down to a more acceptable anxious pace, you shifted positions, climbing onto your knees and locking the door, returning to your original position hunched down on the floor

You sighed, a deep breathy one that rattled in your ribs as you tried to gather yourself back together and sank down to the floor completely, your long gown covering your legs as you began to cry from relief. The heavy droplets rolled down your face and left dark marks on your dress’ soft fabric. But after the crazy evening, you could care less about tears on satin.

* * *

 

It had been the night of your ten year high school reunion. For a shifter, this was a  _ huge _ deal (Since most didn’t even make it through high school) and the entire week, you had been getting little notes of congratulations from local shifters. Some varied from nothing more than hastily scribbled ‘Congrats’ to three page long memories and advice. And they didn’t even know that you were going to be speaking at the reunion.

You’d gone as far out as you could for this, all the way from a full face of makeup to a sixty dollar dress that matched your current eye color and came down to your ankles in a sheath skirt. For the last week, you had been wearing your old face, trying to get back used to seeing brown eyes staring back in the mirror at you and muddy blonde hair when you cleaned out your hairbrush.

The alias of Mary Greenwood had gotten you through high school and you’d kept it as your default name after graduation and as you got older and had to flee hunters, other shifters, and various other situations. Luckily, you’d managed to scrape by with a Bachelor’s in Business with a concentration in Marketing and was able to find a job wherever you went and with whatever face you wore. The Mary Greenwood of West Hill High School had been gone for years and even when you checked up on old high school buddies, none of them ever posted about you, ever wondered, ever cared. 

But the ten year reunion came around and you found yourself having to don the face of Mary Greenwood yet again when your old principal sent a personal letter inviting you to speak to all of your classmates and basically tell them a huge lie about how great it was (Not) and how you missed everyone (Definitely not). All you’d had to do was look at your yearbook photos and envision it and then you were her again. But you had been off the radar for years. 

So yes, you came up with an alibi:

Over the course of ten years, you had been taking care of your dying mother who had MS. You’d had no time to get a Facebook or any other social media because you had to juggle two jobs and caring for her.

Of course, like other plans, there were small details that didn’t make sense, but you just ignored those details and couldn’t wait for the moment when you could move on again and get on with your life and never have to look like her again.

You still didn’t know exactly why you had RSVP'd for the reunion. Maybe it was wishing to relive the ‘glory days’. Maybe you’d wanted to see the look on Libby Santorini’s face when you walked in looking like you hadn’t aged at all. Maybe it was the knowledge that when you, the student speaker at graduation, would be given a chance to speak up again and acknowledge all the bullshit you had to go through at the hands of the bullies. Or maybe you just wanted to see what life would be like for any other twenty eight year old who had been invited back to her high school reunion.

Whatever the case, you found yourself standing in front of your old high school presenting a driver’s license with your photo on it to the former ASB president and heading into the main gym. You weaved in and around the other adults, ignoring the looks and gasps from other classmates. In fact, deep down, you relished it. They had ignored you and shoved your shoulder in the hall. To get this reaction was like a dream come true. Libby looked particularly stunned and you noticed that she’d put on some weight and was obviously dying her hair. 

“Hi Libby,” you said sweetly, waving at her as you went to get a glass of punch. 

She spluttered behind you and you ignored her, taking a few sips of the punch and joining the dancing. 

* * *

As the night wore on and it came closer to your time to speak, you noticed two men you had never seen at school before standing in a corner in tuxes. Which was saying something. In a high school class of six hundred and four, you’d known everyone, even without being popular. But they weren’t from your school. You would have remembered them both. From your position by the punch bowl, you eyed them with a smirk and looked over their incredible faces. 

The shorter one was chiseled and dark, but had an expression like he was a fox in a hen house as he too watched the crowd, lingering on Libby Santorini’s dancing figure. He looked like he belonged in a Playgirl magazine or in a Film Noir depending on the face he made. He seemed too… human, but that fascinated you. The tall man took your breath away with his huge shoulders, hands, and long brown hair that you could just imagine tangling your fingers in. He didn’t seem to be focused on the party like the shorter man was and seemed to be trying to get the shorter guy to pay attention to something besides the pretty women. But there was something off about his innocent seeming personality. There was something dark there… Something you knew all too well from dealing with other monsters. You liked that about the taller man. You could get behind a man like that.

You began to make your way over to them with one hour left until your speech, dancing through the center of the gym and towards them. Multiple times you felt like someone was watching you. You thought you already knew who it was (the shorter man) but didn’t want to glance over and have your gaze stuck on them all evening.

You casually moved towards them once you got off the dance floor, trying to seem inconspicuous as you got closer. You started small conversations with former classmates and then stepped closer, passing behind them and overhearing a conversation when the taller man leaned over to talk to the shorter one. 

“I don’t see anyone who looks like we were told,” the tall man whispered and you lingered behind them. “Maybe it shifted again.”

“Do you think it’s one of them?” the shorter man asked, pointing with a sly grin at Libby Santorini and her gang of old friends, most of whom were still as hot as they were in high school.

“Knock it off,” the tall man growled, glancing around again. You looked away and narrowly missed being seen as listening in. “You know we aren’t here for you to relive your glory days of having sex in the janitor’s closet.”

“That was only once,” the shorter man growled, turning to face the tall man. “And you know I’m just keeping some thoughts open. Maybe the shifter’s one of them.”

You gasped and both men turned around to stare at you. 

You started laughing to cover up your mistake, your voice going a little high-pitched as you lied. “Oh sorry, gentlemen, I just nearly choked on some punch. No need to worry,” you said, taking another sip from your cup and wincing. Someone must have spiked it since you last drank some. Naturally. Of course someone decided to bring alcohol to this event. You smiled apologetically and set the glass down. Both turned back around and started talking again in whispers. You scowled when you couldn’t make out any more words and began to walk back to the dance floor, feeling a pit opening in your stomach. Of course hunters showed up at your first public outing in years.

You kept a close eye on them for the next five minutes as you danced. They didn’t seem to notice you as different, but you still kept your guard up. 

* * *

With only fifteen minutes left until your speech, you spotted them sneaking out of the gym and down the connecting hallway. You broke off your conversation and followed them from a distance. You watched as the pair disappeared into the boiler room and ran to catch the door.

They were already down the stairs when you went inside and you crept down the stairs, lifting up your skirt and gripping the knife you had brought just in case. You reached the bottom of the stairs with no incident, not seeing or hearing anything. Then, from behind you, you were grabbed by two huge arms and pushed against a wall and spun around to face your attacker. The tall man disarmed you in your surprise and threw it away from him as he shifted positions to hold you down.

“Who the hell are you,” the man growled, pressing a burly arm against your throat and pinning you to the wall. 

When you didn’t answer at first, he began to lift you up off the ground as he choked you. You started seriously struggling for breath and grabbed the man’s arm, trying to pull him off of you, but wanting to keep your cover. You could have thrown him off, but 

“Mary… Greenwood,” you managed to gasp out, keeping up your charade.

“Why the hell are you down here,” a second man asked, his deeper voice coming from behind the hulking man who was holding you off the ground. 

“I… got turned around,” you gasped out, trying to catch a breath when you could. 

“Really?” the second man asked, stepping into your view. 

His chiseled face was catching shadows in a way that made him look like he belonged in a spy movie. 

But the face, probably able to make women swoon when it was smiling, was scowling at you and he raised a silver knife. “So you won’t mind if we touch this to your skin?”

You shook your head, praying that it wasn’t silver. As the knife lowered towards your skin and the skin by it began to itch like it was catching fire, you knew they meant business.Thinking quickly, you kneed the man holding you in the stomach with all of your force, making him drop you and go staggering back into a stack of cardboard boxes. 

With a shout of “Sam!” the second man took a slash at you and you ducked, tripping him and grabbing the back of his shirt like you had been taught. Twisting your fingers in the fabric, you spun around with the bent over man and sent him flying into his partner, who had just gotten up. They both went down with a thud and you took off running down the hall of the boiler room, hiking up your skirt as you went up the stairs to the hallway you had come in from. You pulled open the door and ran out, hearing shouts from the hunters behind you.

You ran through the maze of hallways, your heart pounding in your chest and your feet aching from the heels. Only a few moments later, you nearly went down and decided to take the stilettos off. Sighing from relief, you carried the shoes with you as you took off again, trying to put as much distance between you and the hunters. Up ahead, a pair of double doors was easy to be seen and you pushed yourself even faster. Your throat was aching from the choking and the sudden exertion and you were very glad to slip in the doors and ease them shut so the hunters wouldn’t hear. 

You looked around, seeing you were in the library and began to sneak deeper into it, staying close to the shadows and slipping into the non-fiction stacks.

The library was extremely nice for a high school. Very much like the one in ‘The Breakfast Club,’ it was two stories tall with fiction upstairs and non-fiction and biographical downstairs. It was easy to get lost in the maze of books, but in your years at the school, you’d become all too familiar with the stacks.

The shelves that had been so friendly before now seemed creepy, like something from a horror movie, and you were glad that you were wearing dark brown. You seemed to melt into the darkness and you crept through the library silently and slowly, trying to get your breath back. 

A thud from behind you made you jump and nearly scream, only stopping it when you clapped a hand over your mouth in time. 

“Split up,” the second man’s voice said. “I’ll take that side, you take that one. It has to come out somewhere.”

You took that as your cue to run and you began to jog, your bare feet making almost no sound on the carpet. 

Twice you were almost caught, standing only two rows away from either of the men and you quickly regrouped after the second encounter, sneaking to the stairs and up onto the upper floor. After about half an hour of hiding, you heard the two swearing and regrouping in front of the library doors. It was all you could do to stifle a laugh to watch them bicker. Finally, they began to head towards the stairs as you slipped back into the stacks. 

This time, with less bookshelves upstairs, you had to be extra careful, barely breathing and hardly moving. 

Then you messed up. Big time.

As you went around a corner, you knocked over a stack of textbooks. The books crashed to the ground and were followed by pounding footsteps. You bolted down the aisle closest to you and right into a solid chest. The man pushed you away from him and into the shelf closest to you. He kept one hand on your neck and with the other, he pulled a wicked looking silver knife free of his belt.

“Sam, over here,” he yelled, making your ears hurt. 

The tall man came running over, panting heavily. 

“You got her, Dean?” he asked, looking up at Dean’s catch in surprise.

“Glad we caught you, you son of a bitch,” Dean snarled, pulling the knife up close to your throat and pushing you further against the bookshelf and jabbing the sharp point of a hardcover book into your back. 

If you hadn’t been about to die, you would have been turned on by the intensity of his face examining every feature of your’s. Up close, the man’s eyes were emerald green, but they was beginning to blur from the pain.

“Why do you care so much about me,” you asked, trying to hold back tears as the pain from the book point and the pain from your still throbbing neck began to get the better of you.

“Don’t play dumb,” he growled in your face. “We know that you killed those people.”

You stared at the brothers. 

“I can help you,” you insisted, giving them both a pleading look.

Sam seemed to be wavering, glancing between you and Dean with a sympathetic look on his face. Dean was stoic, not moving, not stopping staring at you. 

“Prove that we can trust you,” he ordered. 

You stared at him, your mind flying in millions of directions as you tried to think of what you could do, what you could say to make him trust you. Then you got it. 

You looked at both of them, took a deep breath, closed your eyes. 

Shifting was odd for you. As the daughter of an Alpha, you had a certain affinity to shifting, able to change form with a few thoughts and the clearing of your mind. No messy nasty skin peeling involved. It felt like you became liquid, then became solid again. You hoped that this would be enough. 

One look at the brothers made it obvious that you had made an impression. 

“This is who I am,” you said quietly, bowing your head as you began to tell your whole story. “I’m Y/N. I was born in a little town in Colorado and was taken by my real father when I was three years old. I grew up as a shifter, kicked out by my father when I was fourteen. I made my way here and tried to make a life for myself. I swear, I have never killed anyone except in self-defense and even then it was another shifter who was threatening to expose the whole community.”

Dean stared at you, disbelief in his eyes. Sam seemed surprised, but not as much as his brother. You kept going, not wanting to stop now that you were spilling everything.

“I went to high school for four years, graduating in the top half of my class, went to college, got a degree and tried to live my life right as Mary Greenwood. But I never thought that coming back here would pull me back into this mess,” you admitted, looking up at them and making eye contact with each of them. “I honestly just wanted to pull the huge ‘Look, the nerdy loser turned into a hotty’ stunt and get out of here.”

Dean snorted at that, but a sharp look from you and Sam made him stop and put on a more respectful face.

“I swear I can help,” you insisted. “I have local contacts that can tell me who it is. I can pretend to confront the other shifter and get them to stop. Then you two jump in and take it out.”

Sam glanced at Dean. 

“We need to talk about this,” he said quietly. 

They started whispering and you didn’t listen in. This was their decision to make. You just prayed that they would take your bargain.

* * *

They came back moments later, Sam looking smug and Dean looking dejected.

“Alright,” Dean said, looking pissed off with himself. “You can help.”

“I promise I won’t let you down,” you assured him.

He raised his hand to cut you off so he could speak himself. “But one wrong move and you’re done,” he said warningly. 

“Alright,” you agreed, stepping backwards. “I have a call to make.”

* * *

“There has to be a mistake,” you argued, trying to keep your voice down so the hunters didn’t hear you. 

“I’m telling you, Y/N,” your uncle said. “There’s only one other shifter in the area. And it’s her.”

* * *

“I knew you were a bitch, just not like this,” you spat as she stalked around you. 

“Pretentious prat,” she snarled back, her eyes changing from blue to silver now. “You Alpha spawns think you’re just  _ so  _ good. Better than the rest of us since you can shift without pain.” 

“That’s not it,” you protested, but she cut you off.

“Do you know what it’s like, living as a mutt shifter on the streets,” she growled. “I never wanted to be Libby. I was my own person for years. But I wanted more from my life and I killed her. She was my first blood. And I never went back. I became her. And then you showed up.”

She paused for a breath and kept walking around you. 

“An Alpha’s daughter,” she sneered. “Trying to live a ‘normal’ life. Gag me with a spoon please.” 

She made a choking face and kept talking. 

“But you weren’t like I expected,” she said thoughtfully. 

“How so?” you asked, genuinely curious. 

“You never noticed me as a shifter and you treated everyone, even me, with respect,” she said, trying to explain. “You just were trying to be normal. That made it so much harder to hate you.”

“Libby… I never knew,” you pleaded.

“Don’t call me that!” she nearly screamed at you. “I. Am. Not. Libby. Santorini! I am Marie Allan!”

“Okay, okay,” you said, raising your hands in mock surrender as you backed towards the place you and the boys had arranged for you to be on when they jumped out. 

The plan was simple.Once you found the other shifter, you would go and ask to talk to her in private, leading the shifter to the boiler room where you would distract her until Sam and Dean could move in for the kill. In the meantime, you had to wait it out and keep talking, most likely risking your life.

Libby, or Marie (or whatever she was calling herself), kept walking closer to you and when you saw the brothers come out of the shadows, you closed your eyes, waited for the thud that was her body hitting the floor.

You stared at the body on the ground, glancing from Libby’s limp form to the brothers. Sam looked winded, his hair all in his face and some sticking up in the back that fluttered whenever he took a heaving breath. Dean looked winded too, but was breathing shallowly and fidgeting to try and dispel his nervous energy.

“Cutting it a little close there, don’t you think,” you said indignantly, looking between them.

“Sorry sweetheart,” Dean said with a shrug. “We had to wait until you were in position.”

“Y/N, are you alright?” Sam asked, earning a dark look from his brother.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” you said, looking away from the blood covered knife in Sam’s hand as you spoke.

“We can take care of her,” Dean assured you, seeing the sick look on your face. “You have a speech to make, right?”

“Yeah,” you said numbly, finally able to make eye contact with him. His eyes were kind and sympathetic. Not at all like the shards of emerald that had been in your face when you were pressed up against a bookshelf.

“You’ve got this, kid,” he said, clapping you on the shoulder and turning to help his brother with the body. 

You were about to leave when a thought occurred to you. 

“Hey?” you asked, pausing at the top of the stairs. 

“Yeah?” Sam grunted, hefting Libby up onto his shoulders. 

“What if you guys ever need my help again?” you asked, unable to keep the smirk off your face.

Dean snorted. 

“Do you have some paper?” he asked, also shifting Libby to his shoulder. “I’m going to give you my number.”

You pulled your phone out and waved it at him. 

“Ready,” you announced, pulling up your contacts.

“8-6-6,” he said as he and Sam headed towards the back of the boiler room. “9-0-7. And 3-2-3-5.”

You typed it in and called it just to make sure that it was real. A loud ringtone came from the back of the boiler room and you smiled. 

“Thanks,” you yelled down, turning back to the door.

So you left that boiler room and gave a passionate speech about being kind to everyone and waiting to pass judgement on old classmates or on colleagues. Not one of your classmates was left sitting down at the end of it and you walked out of the gym with a smile and a standing ovation. No one had seemed to notice that Libby wasn’t there and you left with your head held high. 

* * *

“And that’s how I spent my ten year reunion,” you finished telling the crowd of shifters who had gathered to hear your story in the secret bar under a Starbucks in Boston. 

“What were their last names?” a shifter around your age asked. 

“That’s the crazy part, I never found out until I called the number and got a voicemail,” you explained, sipping some more whiskey. “And then I knew that I had been so very lucky with what I did.”

“So, what was it?” the shifter pressed.

“Yes, tell us, tell us,” a little one cried from near your feet. 

“Alright…” you sighed. “But don’t freak out.”

“Winchester,” you said, the bar bursting into chaos.


End file.
